


This Time I’m Speeding With No Direction

by theshipsfirstmate



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Post 1x09, parallel fic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 22:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8771635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipsfirstmate/pseuds/theshipsfirstmate
Summary: Post-1x09. Ginny Baker’s life has been filled with “almosts.” Mike Lawson’s life has been a series of “what ifs.”





	

_A/N: This was supposed to be a ficlet, a fun little parallel exercise. It got away from me. Here’s hoping it still works._

_Title from “[Desire](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DhgUJIgubhmo&t=OWU1ZWY3OWIxOGRhZGNjM2VkZDk3NDUxOWI4OGMxNjY3OWIzZDczMSx6TEhiZ0tMZQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AiAw4tJIAalN1OvhWtUFPsQ&m=1)” by Ryan Adams._

**This Time I’m Speeding With No Direction**

Ginny Baker’s life has been filled with “almosts.”

She almost didn’t make it to the majors, that’s the biggest one. She almost couldn’t handle the heat, and her own almost wasn’t hot enough. She almost quit a million times before she took the mound at Petco that first night. She almost never got called up. Hell, she almost died in a car accident.

The invisible weight that hangs heavy around her neck every time she’s given an accolade or put on a pedestal is the knowledge that her father _almost_ got to witness his lifelong dream. It became her dream by default, she almost doesn’t know what to wish for anymore.

She almost bailed on the Padres after her first start, Blip reminds her during batting practice. Ginny remembers the blind terror like it was yesterday, but sets it aside as she watches Mike stalk off after closing up his stance and knocking a few deep just like she told him to. Now, she can’t imagine being anywhere but San Diego, with this team. Now she doesn’t want anything to change.

He _can’t_ leave. They’re almost in the Wild Card. This Padres team could win Mike Lawson the ring he wants so bad, and deserves even moreso. And isn’t that the way is should be? She almost wants it for him more than she does for herself. Almost.

She almost begs him in the training room, and when he jabs her on the way out, in a way that feels as definitive as it does dismissive, it leaves her sensitive enough that she almost takes Butch’s head off for nothing. But she can’t bring herself to take the next big step. Until it’s the bottom of the ninth and Mike Lawson’s final game in San Diego has almost ended without him.

She’s aware that the skipper’s boat doesn’t need to be rocked any further, and she certainly doesn’t need to be the dumb Gilligan rocking it. But there isn’t time to dwell too long on the potential consequences, it’s a no brainer to get Mike Lawson the curtain call he deserves.

When he strikes out – looking, no less – she almost regrets it. But the Petco crowd comes through, giving their beloved catcher a proper hero’s goodbye. He looks back at her when he tips his cap, and Ginny almost worries that she’s tipping her hand.

She hopes the moment will carry to the locker room, but he’s back to closed off and grumpy and terse, and she almost, _almost_ can’t believe him. Swan song or not, he’s still Mike Lawson, grind-her-teeth fucking frustrating Mike Lawson, and it’s like he’s trying to prove it one last time before he goes. He needles her, and sarcastically apologizes on behalf of her “poster boy” like he’s trying to shoo her away. Finally, she lets him, with one raised eyebrow at Blip and one last offer for a drink that she hopes sounded half-hearted and generic enough to pass for casual.

Besides, she’s almost dating a perfectly nice tech billionaire. That is, if you can count walking out ten minutes into the first date as anything official. It’s worth it though, for the way Mike looks at her when she shows up at Boarden’s. Nothing almost about that.

“Part of me wants you to leave, for the same reason you want to leave,” she tells him, almost hoping he’ll ask about the _other_ part. She practically confessed the other day in the training room, she’s almost ready to try it without the metaphor.

She’s shocked when he admits that he’ll miss her, and almost puts together what he means when he says “it’s only been three months” before he’s throwing her for another loop. She _almost_ admits that she’ll miss the beard.

When they leave the bar, she can tell that Mike’s almost about to say something different before he admits to pranking her, and not just because her breath catches in her throat when he calls her by her first name. She can sense it, but doesn’t fully understand what it is until he hugs her, and holds on just a little too long. Long enough that she feels the warmth of his neck against her cheek, long enough that she’s wrapped up in the scent of his cologne and something… else, something that makes her stomach flip.

She holds her breath when she turns her face into him, almost worried she’ll scare him off. Then she feels his fingers flex against her back, and everything suddenly shifts.

She almost pulls back far enough, but their foreheads stay pressed together and Ginny knows this is either happening too fast or not fast enough, there’s nothing in between. He’s waiting for her to make the move, and she almost gleans the full significance of that before her lips are tingling at the tickle of his beard.

She almost kisses him.

If she’s really being honest, she’s almost ready to go home with him, the feel of his body against her own is enough to remind her of his early flight, and all the ways in which that alarm could be ignored. Blip’s right, she’s wound too tight, and she’s almost sure that if she took Mike home right now, he could unwind her good. Maybe _for_ good.

She almost kisses him _twice_. Almost, almost. The second time, their eyes lock for just a split second. She looks down, but he doesn’t, she can practically feel his heated gaze singe the side of her cheek. She’s almost closed the gap between their lips when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

She almost tells him not to answer it. That’s the one she’ll think about the most in the car on the way home.

Ginny watches him closely while he takes the call, hearing almost everything she needs to in his “Are you serious?” She almost thinks of Trevor Davis and the Cardinals call-up, almost curses her own history for repeating itself. But this is different. This is Mike Lawson staying with the Padres, this is only supposed to be good news. It’s for the best, all of it.

She’s almost got herself convinced.

There’s a moment that flashes between them then, just a split second. It’s almost _“what if we do this anyway?”_ She almost tells the car service to go on without her. But she doesn’t. She almost looks back as she pulls away, almost wills her shaky hands to dial his number from the car and tell him to follow. But she doesn’t.

They almost ruin everything on the sidewalk that night. She almost thinks it would have been worth it.

* * *

Mike Lawson’s life has been a series of “what ifs?”

What if either of his parents had given a good damn? What if he hadn’t had the bad fortune to be born at the crossroads of delinquent and deadbeat? What if the world had given him just one person who stuck around for as long as people are supposed to? As he’s grown up, he’s started to think of these things as the stepping stones to his success, rather than the obstacles that laid in front of it. It’s easier that way.

It’s the “what ifs” that have come since that are etching lines on his face.

What if Branyan doesn’t make that error in the 2006 NL Division Series and the Padres actually survive in the playoffs for once in his career? What if he doesn’t square up against Pierzynski barreling home three years ago and keeps his left knee intact? What if he knew all the things he knows now about his marriage when he was still, you know, in it?

People talk about him winning it all with the Cubs like it’s something kind of certainty, but they said the same types of things when Mike tried on a ring the last time. What if he doesn’t? And, somehow worse, what if he _does_ , and it doesn’t make him happy like it’s supposed to?

“Tell me I moved the needle,” Ginny asks him in the training room, almost pleading. What if he tells her she _is_ the needle? “You know you’re gonna miss me,” she teases. What if he tells her how much? “Win a ring with us,” she offers. What if he tells her one of his deepest, darkest secrets, that he wants to put a diamond on her finger either way?

Eight-and-a-half innings of his last game at Petco are totally miserable, and despite an intolerably endearing effort from the rookie pitcher that gets him on the field, things somehow get even worse when he finally steps to the plate. What if his last-ever at bat as a Padre is a backwards K? But then the crowd picks him up one last time, chanting his name like it means something. The fans cheer and Mike catches a glimpse of Ginny clapping proudly for him in the dugout, and he can’t tell which is making his heart thud against his ribcage.

Of course, he goes and ruins it almost immediately in the locker room. What if he just did things the way Blip said? Would that really have been so hard? He watches the rest of his sullen, disappointed team file out and wonders if they’ll hate him in Chicago.

Later that night, when he gives in and texts Ginny the name of the bar he’s stumbled into, the “what ifs” take up a permanent spot in the base of his skull, buzzing a low hum of all the reasons why she won’t come in harmony with the white noise of all the reasons she shouldn’t. He orders another round to try and quiet things down.

But then she’s there, wearing a dress that makes his mouth go dry, even when he learns too quickly that it was for another man. He wonders what would happen if he told her the truth instead of teasing her, if he swallowed his pride along with his beer and came clean. What if, instead of quizzing her on his motives for leaving and bemoaning that no one wants him to stay, he admits that she’s the reason he wants to do both and it’s got him so twisted up inside he can barely see straight?

What if he actually tells her all the things he’ll really miss? What if he confesses that the majority of that list is just her name? She laughs at all of his jokes, but it’s her serious face he can’t handle, and he can’t seem to avoid it tonight. When they reach the end of a run, her smile starts to turn down at the corners and she looks at him like she can read something important in his eyes. Or maybe it’s that she wants him to see it in hers. It’s time to go.

What if he tells her what he really wants to on the sidewalk outside the bar? He comes close, tasting the words in his mouth, but can’t bring himself to spit them out and risk ruining what might be their last moment together. The alternate admission about nailing her cleats is worth it even so, if only to hear that laugh one more time before he leaves.

It’s enough to make her hug him, too. She almost launches herself into his arms and he’s overwhelmed by the coconut smell of her hair and the proximity to everything he so desperately wants. He probably holds on too long, but she seems in no hurry to pull away either, and when his fingers flex unconsciously, callouses scraping against the material of her dress his where his hands are wrapped around her back, he feels her tense. What if that tiny movement has told her everything she needs to know?

She shifts against him, he can feel her cheek graze against his neck as she pulls back just slightly, and oh god, what if this kills him? What if he dies with Ginny Baker’s mouth tracing across the air in front of his lips, until she’s just close enough to graze his beard?

‘You have an early flight,” she breathes, like it means anything to him in this moment. He might grunt out a syllable in response, he’s not entirely certain. What would happen if he closes the distance between them? It has to be her decision, he knows that. So much isn’t these days.

Heavy-lidded gazes meet for a split second, and when she looks away, he keeps staring, unable to tear his eyes away until the moment they slip shut. She’s _beautiful_ , and so close…

What if Oscar calls just five minutes later?

Ginny takes a step back and looks down at the ground as Mike fiddles for his phone and he watches her some more, burning this moment into his memory in case it’s all about to go to shit. What if he never gets this chance again?

Oscar gives him the news and he’s somehow simultaneously shell-shocked and not surprised in the slightest. It’s a conflict of emotions he doesn’t need at the moment, not when there’s another one standing literally inches in front of him, looking like she’s disappointed that he took the call, even if she told him to. Mike hates that this means they should be thankful things didn’t get too far out of hand, hates that he knows now they’ll have to try and shove everything back into Pandora’s box. What if he _can’t_?

When he hangs up, he tells Ginny what’s happened, even though it seems like she knows already, and stands there uselessly as the moment of recklessness passes between them. What if he ignores the consequences and kisses her anyway? But he doesn’t. What if he makes the call for them both and tells her car to go on without her? But he doesn’t. She is beautiful, and _so close_ , and he won’t ruin this for her.

What if this is how things change the most, by staying almost exactly the same?


End file.
